Edward Masen, The Oldest Man in the World
by JenJadeEyes
Summary: AU - Edward doesn't contract Spanish Influenza, doesn't become a vampire. How does the oldest man in the world celebrate his birthday? Now with Chapter 2 BPOV
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I don't own Twilight. I'll just have to deal with it.**

I was going to wring her neck like a chicken headed for the soup pot. Damn "Activities Director"; really she was a hound from the pit of hell. She came sidling up to me, too much ugly red lipstick under too much frizzy red hair. Smiling. Talking. Leading a team of people into the dining hall where I was relaxing. What the hell was she saying to the damn camera man? In order to know, I was going to have to turn up my hearing aid and hear her shrill, shrieking voice. Steady now; just enough for clarity, not enough to commit suicide.

"And with the death of Mr. Watanabe last week, our own Edward Masen becomes the oldest living man in the world at 108 years young! We're just so honored to have him residing here with us at the Mercer Island Sunrise Senior Centers!"

I wonders if she realized how many stupid things she's said in that sentence. I know I knew. My mind was still sharp; still able to parse a phrase, find the loopholes, the ways to turn it to my advantage. I just didn't have the energy to pin her to the wall like the moth-brain she was. If I did have, she'd be cinders by now, and I'd still be a practicing lawyer.

"Edward is also the oldest living veteran of World War I."

I'm the oldest living veteran altogether. God, her stupidity knew no bounds, did it? And how dare she call me Edward. I told her time and time again...

"We're so honored to have members of Mercer Island VFW Post 5760 on hand today to help celebrate Mr. Masen's achievement."

My achievement. I can't seem to die, and that's an achievement?

"We'd like to thank the Fred Meyer store in Bellevue for donating a birthday cake to help us celebrate...."

Publicity hound. That's all she was. I never have liked her, and I'm sure I made her quite aware of the fact. She reminded me why I never felt the need to settle down and marry one of the many harpies that clutched at me throughout my life. I couldn't imagine having to deal with a woman for years and years on end. I hadn't survived Verdun intact to be emasculated by a woman when I got home.

Maybe I could get my lovely candy-striper to poison her for me. Wait, that's not what they were called anymore. What did they call her? Oh yes - a Youth Ambassador. Where was she today? It was time for her to bring around the book cart, then she'd be in the computer room showing Mrs. Yin how to e-mail her grandchildren for the upmteenth time this month. I searched around the room for her, not able to see past all the bright damn lights in my face and the yip-yapping of the television woman and the stinking Activities Director and ...

"Congratulations, sir! 108! What an accomplishment!" I hadn't seen this man before; he was wearing a VFW hat and shaking my damn arm off.

Before I even thought it, my mouth shot off. "Unhand me, you oaf!"

It was suddenly quiet around me, and as I looked around I saw that everyone's mouth was gaping open as they stared at me.

"Damn birthday. I told you I didn't want a damn party, but no-one listened..."

The room cleared pretty fast after that. And then I was able to see her. The angel that made my existence tolerable. Her hair was a deep, rich brown, and she let the long tresses flow down her back. So rare for a young woman to have such beautiful long hair these days. And she had the nicest smile.

As she finished talking with Mrs. Chandler, she looked over at me and waved. I nodded back at her. She stood up and began pushing the book cart my way; she then promptly tripped over her own feet.

She was a bit of a mess when she walked. It was adorable. If I were a younger man I'd be at her side constantly, just waiting for her to trip so that I could catch her. Did she not have a beau? Were all the young men of today blind AND stupid?

She finally made it over to me. She smiled. "I would say 'Happy Birthday', but I'm afraid of your response, counselor."

"Haven't I told you to call me Edward, Miss Swan?"

"And haven't I asked you to call me Bella, Mr. Masen?"

I snorted. I was a gentleman. I knew better than to be so forward with my angel. "Were you able to get any legal books from the library this time?" I queried, not for the first time.

"They're still considered reference materials, Mr. Masen, and as such are unable to be checked out of the library, as well you know." A devious grin and a mild blush followed. "I do have something else for you to read this week."

Ah, she'd thought of me. My auburn-haired angel had thought of me. Her blush stunned my senses; made me wish I was a young man again, able to woo her with sonnets and flowers. She deserved more than the self-centered whelps I saw on the television. Idiots.

As I returned my glance to her face, she seemed to be waiting for me to say something. Where had we left off? Oh yes, something to read.

"Well, I suppose it will have to do." I huffed, not willing to let her see how her thoughtfulness affected me.

She pulled a silver-wrapped present from one of the shelves and came around the book cart to set it on the table next to me. She leaned over, bringing her beautiful face within inches of mine. She was trying to kill me, my bewitching Bella.

"Happy Birthday, Edward," she breathed softly, then kissed me on my cheek. Damn if it wasn't the best thing to happen to me for years. Her lips were soft, and the way she smelled reminded me of my mother's garden, all earth and sky and flowers. It would be improper of me to ask her never to leave my side, but I seriously considered it for the few seconds that she lingered.

My angel then stood, blushing furiously and giving a half-smile. "Enjoy your reading."

I watched her walk back around the cart, desperately trying to think of something witty to say, to keep her with me. But I couldn't come up with anything. As she moved toward the hallway, I picked up the gift she'd left next to me and opened it.

Dale Carnegie. How to Win Friends and Influence People.

I was stunned. My angel had a wicked sense of humor. I laughed. And laughed and laughed.

I looked up at where she should be - trying to maneuver the cart around the corner just outside the dining room. She looked over to me, her teeth worrying her bottom lip, and gave a jaunty wave. I raised my new book in acknowledgement.

I would count the hours until I could see my angel again.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I don't own Twilight. Still dealing with it.**

**Because I have difficulty writing alternate POV's, I decided to try and write this one-shot from BPOV. Let me know what you think.**

Noticing the time, I gunned the engine on my old truck as it coughed its way along. I was lucky to find a job that allowed me to work on my days off from school; therefore I felt an obligation to be dedicated and responsible, but my truck sometimes made it difficult. The Thing had been with me a while, though, since I moved to Washington four years ago. And it connected me to Charlie. And I can't afford anything else.

My roommate found the job at the Senior Center on the Work-Study Board at school; she noticed it because it paid the best. I was worried about needles and blood, but Alicia assured me it was an Assisted Living facility, no major open wounds, no blood. That made it easier to say yes. And Alicia was able to convince the Susie, the Activities Director, that we were best as a package deal; she was a great salesperson. I think it had something to do with her father being "Jeff King, the Used Car King of Seattle".

As I approached the floating bridge across Lake Washington, the sunlight reflected off the wrapped gift on the seat beside me. I thought about the time a couple of months ago that I had been stuck on the bridge behind a traffic accident. I had called in and informed Susie of my delay; that was the first day I came face-to-face with Mr. Masen. Susie had warned me when I first started working there that he was a former litigator and "quite a hard-ass", and it would be better for my sanity to stay out of his line of fire. I had done an okay job of that until that day; he'd been sitting on the outdoor deck, and I had to walk right by him to get in the building.

_"You're late. Where have you been?" _

_I bit my cheek and refused to say the first thing that popped into my head, which was, "It's okay, Mother, I'm a big girl now," and instead went for placating him. "There was an accident on the floating bridge."_

_"You should always have two routes to your place of employment, in case one is blocked. You could have taken the ferry."_

_"One, Mr. Masen, I was already on the bridge. It's not like they have turnaround lanes. Two, there isn't a ferry to Mercer Island. Three, I really should get inside. Susie sounded a little flustered when I called her to let her know I'd be late."_

_As I moved to pull open the door, he began muttering his not-so-chairitable opinion of my boss. I was able to clearly pick out "harpy" and "dingbat" from his diatribe. A small smile settled on my lips as I hurried inside._

In the weeks after our little discussion, Mr. Masen kept popping up at activities I was supervising; computer class (where he berated a woman who couldn't remember how to use her address book), game time (where he savaged a Pinocle team for its strategy), and even music appreciation (where he excoriated a visiting college choir for their barbershop quartet-style arrangement of "Stardust"- he was right on that one, however; they WERE terrible). I secretly began to wonder which of the gods I had irritated so badly that they felt the need to throw Edward Masen into my path constantly; as the contact grew more frequent, I began to wonder what sacrifice (animal, human, firstborn) would appease said god.

After the debacle with the choir, however, Mr. Masen occasionally volunteered to play piano for music appreciation, not only showing me "the way 'Stardust' is supposed to sound", but also going through classical composers like Mozart, Chopin, and my personal favorite, Debussy. His delicate treatment of 'Claire de Lune' touched me in a way I still have trouble explaining. Each time he played it, it was as if he played it only for me; an incomprehensible communication. He put the lion away, just for a moment, and allowed his inner lamb to step out.

The lion was never very far away, however. Last week, at Susie's request, I went to Mr. Masen's room to ask him if the Senior Center could borrow some of his personal photos to make into posters for his birthday party. The lion was at the ready.

_"Why? I told that virago I didn't want to be a part of her attention-grabbing..."_

_Attempting to re-direct his attention, I looked at the stark white walls, which were covered with photographs in matching heavy black frames. My curiosity got the better of me as I stepped closer to them: a young man on the beach with a huge old-fashioned surfboard; the same man, slightly older, standing next to a bi-plane, another photo of the same man standing in front of the pyramids; an even older man, now obviously Mr. Masen, in a business suit on the steps of the Supreme Court..._

_Here was the perfect distraction for him. I interrupted his diatribe with, "Did you argue in front of the Supreme Court, Mr. Masen?"_

_"I did. Stupid Vinson died, and I had to present in front of Earl Warren. Not my most favorite memory", he barked. On the far wall were even more photos; a variety of subjects flew by as my eyes travelled the walls; safaris, mountain climbing, hot air balloon flying, skiing, flying; Mr. Masen had done so much with his long life. He'd been an exceedingly vital man in his youth. And extremely handsome, I thought to myself; too bad I hadn't known him when he was younger. With his piercing green eyes, I'm sure I would have been a goner..._

_"Do you have a favorite among all these adventures, counselor?"_

_He smiled at his reminisces. It softened his face. "I enjoyed them all for different reasons, I suppose. You can call me Edward, you know."_

_Wondering if he had a sense of humor under all that gruffness, I put on a serious face, trying to control my urge to smile. "Oh, no, sir. I wouldn't want to make Susie jealous." _

_He snorted. "Tell that harridan that I'll die before I'll let her make a circus out of me on my birthday..." _

_I grinned. "Maybe you should try to sweet talk her?"_

_One corner of his mouth turned upward, and I suddenly realized he must have been quite the ladykiller in his day. "It's impossible. All that hair dye has addled her brain."_

_I laughed then. "It could be that you're out of practice, counselor."_

_"It could be that I never knew how, Miss Swan." His gaze went from gentle to laser-like in a fraction of a second. I could feel a blush creeping up my cheeks. I was now positive he'd given the women of his day a run for their money._

_"I would be remiss if I didn't give the obligatory 'You're never too old to learn' speech here..."_

_"Hogwash. I believe at nearly 108 I've earned the right to learn not one more thing if I so choose."_

_"Touché, Mr. Masen." I stood to leave. "I'll see you next week - at your very large, very public birthday party."_

_As I left, I heard his muttered "Not if I die first", and laughed to myself at his stubbornness._

I congratulated myself on arriving to work a few minutes early. I quickly gathered my things, including Mr. Masen's birthday gift, and hurried inside to help set up for the party. After Susie had checked out the results and decided to re-arrange everything, I placed Mr. Masen's gift on the book cart and started my usual distribution run of the public meeting areas. I had a new romance novel for Mrs. Rife; Mr. McGraw eagerly snapped up the huge new book on classic cars. And while I was going over knitting books with Mrs. Chandler, I heard Mr. Masen completely lose it, yelling at a fellow veteran and chilling the room by a few thousand degrees. The lion was on the prowl.

As I finished with Mrs. Chandler, I looked at him and waved. His beautiful eyes glittered with a fierceness that stole my breath away and caused me to forget how to walk for a minute. I thought about how pathetic it was that the first man to make me feel completely flustered and shaky was old enough to be my great-great-grandfather; if only, if only, if only... one of the most tragic phrases in the English language.

As I came up to his table, I wished him Happy Birthday. He asked again about the law books he wanted me to bring in; I told him again that I couldn't check out reference books. I wondered if he forgot every week, or just liked to annoy me by asking me for them over and over when he knew I had to say no. I told him I'd brought him something else to read; I wanted to see if he'd take the bait and ask me what I'd brought. His mind seemed to wander, however. He stared at the hair falling over my left shoulder and I blushed in embarrassment as the silence stretched on. Finally, he seemed to snap back into himself and huffed that he'd make do with the book I brought.

His eyes followed me as I pulled his silver-wrapped present from one of the shelves and came around the book cart to set it on the table next to him. Thinking of the young, vibrant representations of Edward Masen hanging on the wall in his room, I leaned over, wished him a happy birthday, and kissed him on the cheek. Thinking of the book I'd picked out for him, I blushed furiously and gave him a half-smile, wanting to be out of reach of the lion's clutches when he opened it. "Enjoy your reading," I smiled, then left as quickly as humanly possible, hoping Edward would take my gift in the humorous way I had intended.

As I reached the hallway, I heard a cackle from his direction. I nervously looked over to see him holding the Dale Carnegie book at a jaunty angle and smiling at me, causing me to trip over my own feet again. I decided to allow myself one more thought of "if only", and resumed my duties for the day.

_**A/N 2 - Not my favorite ending, but I wrote three and this was the best one. Perhaps we can play "fix this ending" - I'd be willing to post the best alternate ending as Chapter 3! **_


End file.
